


A Westmorland Adventure (The Dramatic Entrance Of Doctor Moore Agar)

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [50]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Betrayal, F/M, M/M, Murder, Slow Burn, Trains, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Westmorland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Few people can have fallen (quite literally) into the lives of my brother Sherlock and his friend Watson that Doctor Moore Agar, who nearly lost his life in bringing them this murder case where the obvious killer obviously could not have killed – at least until Sherlock sets to work.





	A Westmorland Adventure (The Dramatic Entrance Of Doctor Moore Agar)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otala/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

London has always been a violent city, and indeed still is. Baker Street, the home of my brother Sherlock and later his friend Watson, was one of the more respectable areas – except perhaps on this occasion when it briefly came to resemble the Wild West of the United States!

I should also add that this story like so many was written up but not published by Watson, in this instance at the instigation of Squire Philip Millebrande. When looking at which cases might now be released Holmes contacted him, and he agreed that with certain scurrilous rumours about his father having been circulated by his the squire's cousin Mr. Gordon Millebrande (son of the Mr. Edgar in this story), the time was now right for its release.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

One of the men at the top of the medical profession at this time was Doctor Moore Agar, whom I knew because he like me haled from Northumberland, specifically from Beal which was a village only a few miles north of my home-town of Belford. Perhaps because of this he had always been quite friendly to me when he taught classes at St. Bartholomew's where I had learnt my profession, and we maintained a distant acquaintanceship through intermittent letters.

Until he arrived to Baker Street one day in a hail of not so distant gunfire!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was a short time after the case later written up as _The Red-Headed League_ and I was visiting Holmes in his rooms. It was a warm day so he had the window open, which meant of course we had all the noise from the street outside. But suddenly that noise came to an abrupt halt as there came what was most definitely the sound of a gunshot. Holmes rushed to the window and I followed, but not before a second shot was swiftly followed by the blowing of a policeman's whistle and the sound of frantic banging on the door of 221B.

“Done from a hansom!” Holmes said in disgust. I can see it shooting off, going far faster than any cab I have ever been in. What is London coming to these days?”

“Who was he shooting at?” I asked, looking cautiously out beside him.

“Presumably the man who has just fallen through our front door”, Holmes said. “Doubtless he will be here to explain shortly why he has brought the behaviour normally restricted to our more wayward American cousins to a quiet London thoroughfare. We shall soon know.”

We did. Moments later a familiar figure stumbled through our door, almost tripping over the rug in his haste. It was Doctor Moore Agar!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I knew that my fellow Northumbrian was a teetotaller, so to see him downing his third whisky was not a good sign. Then again someone had just tried to kill him.

“And I know who it was!” the doctor gasped out. “Mr. Edgar Millebrande, brother to the late Squire David, my patient until as of eight o'clock last night.”

“He was murdered?” I asked. My fellow medic nodded.

“I am sure it was by his brother”, he said. “He had the motive, as there is only his nephew young Philip between himself and the estate now, and the boy is but ten years old.”

“And you believe that this Mr. Edgar Millebrande attempted to prevent you seeking our aid?” Holmes asked.

“I was called out to examine the bodies at just after nine last night....”

“Bodies?” Holmes interposed.

“The squire and his wife were both killed”, Doctor Agar said. “I am sorry; I am in such a mess.”

“Having someone attempt to end your earthly existence on a London thoroughfare does tend to have that effect”, Holmes said dryly. “I am surprised that Mr. Millebrande did not try to intercept you before leaving Westmorland.”

The doctor baulked for some reason.

“How did you know I came down from Westmorland?” he asked.

Holmes pointed to the railway ticket on the floor.

“That fell out of your pocket when you entered”, he said. “It is a London & North Western Railway ticket, and as the Millebrandes own houses in Westmorland, Durham and Berwickshire, the first of those is the most likely given the state of your boots.”

I looked down at the doctor's boots. Sure enough they were extremely dirty.

“Since your errand required your presence here as soon as possible, I hardly think you would have found the time to enter a private house and spend precious minutes standing in their fireplace”, Holmes said. “You clearly undertook part of your journey riding on the footplate of a railway locomotive.”

The doctor was visibly impressed.

“You are quite correct”, he said. “The Millebrande estate is near the town of Kirkby Stephen, where I live. I very much feared that when I questioned Mr. Edgar last night, he sensed that I might contact you as he knows I have spoken before of my acquaintanceship with the doctor here. I believed that taking the obvious route south, Midland Railway, would not see me leave the county. Fortunately I had as one of my patients a guard who works on the North Eastern Railway which cuts across the Midland and serves Knavesby and the Hall. It runs the other way to the London & North Western main line at Tebay, and William took me to the signal-box at his company's station in the town. The man there said a light engine was headed to Tebay shed and would be there in half an hour, and I secured a place on that. Although as you can see Mr. Millebrande came to London anyway.”

“He must have taken the Midland Railway express, not found you on it, and therefore headed here to intercept you”, Holmes said. “Fortunately he must now know you have succeeded in your quest to secure our assistance, so any further effort against you would be pointless. Watson, can you come with me to Westmorland?”

Fortunately I had recently been able to employ a junior doctor at my Paddington surgery who, when Holmes needed me, could cover my absences, so I sent a telegram to my wife that I would be absent for a few days.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Doctor Moore Agar was clearly not fit to return North with us, and Holmes showed him out the back door just in case his murderous pursuer was still lingering in the vicinity. He said he would go to a relative on the Essex coast and spend a few days there recovering, and recommended us to the local sergeant who had been called in to the case, a Mr. Uriah Hendricks. He wired ahead to that gentleman and it was arranged that he would meet us at the Midland Railway station in the town. 

We went via St. Pancras and made good time to Westmorland, emerging onto a blustery platform that, it turned out, was a very solid two miles from the town it purported to serve (little wonder that there was a very small 'West' added below the large station name-board!). 

Sergeant Hendricks turned out to be a very solid policeman of some forty years of age, possibly with some Dutch ancestry from both his name and his blond hair. He drove us to the Hall, saying that it would be better for explain all at the scene of the crime. He was very efficient in his arrangements for our sudden arrival; despite the deaths of their master and mistress the place was ready to receive us for a few nights, and food and drinks were served at once. When the servants had withdrawn the policeman began. 

“This is bad”, he said. “Squire David Millebrande was a man much loved by everyone around, and he and his wife have both been killed. Murdered by someone sneaking into the house and shooting them dead whilst they were at dinner. There was a huge storm passing over at the time, so the gunshots were mistaken for that I suppose. It was only when the maid came in to get the dinner things that the horror was discovered.”

Holmes frowned.

“That seems somewhat risky on the murderer’s part”, he observed. “Unless they were watching they could not know if a maid might return unexpectedly, although I suppose having proven to be so bloodthirsty one more body might not overly concern them. How did the murderer gain access to this room?”

“There is a French door out to the garden with a simple lock on it”, the sergeant said, gesturing to it. “I myself was able to force it open this morning, and there was some evidence of it having been attempted before. I found some footprints leading across a muddy part of the grass to the wall, but they were a size six. Mr. David Millebrande, the late squire's brother and now I suppose guardian to his nephew, is a size eight. He said that he had to go to London yesterday on urgent business but could not tell me what as it was a legal matter.”

I snorted in disbelief.

“Where is the boy?” Holmes asked.

“Away over in Barrow when this happened”, the sergeant said. Holmes looked hard at him.

“There is something odd here”, he said. “What is it?”

The sergeant grinned.

“Thought you'd spot that, sir”, he said. “The boy was due home yesterday, before the attack, but his mother arranged for him to stay with a fellow classmate in Barrow for a few days. Just as well.”

“You are certain that his mother arranged this?” Holmes asked. “Not the other boy's parents?”

Sergeant Hendricks nodded.

“Yes”, he said. “One of the footmen went into town with the telegram and he had to check its contents before it was sent. And with the shooting.... well.”

I felt that I was missing something here.

“What is it?” I asked. Holmes turned to me.

“No matter how fast the shooter”, he said, “it takes several seconds to shoot two people at long-range who are sat in different positions at a dinner table. In that time, the one that was shot second would doubtless have called for help. Unless….”

The sergeant nodded.

“Someone else was in on it”, he said firmly.

“Tell me more about Mr. Edgar Millebrande”, Holmes said. The sergeant frowned.

“Motive is obvious as he is now squire in all but name, and his nephew's guardian. He has a gun of course, he went to London yesterday and as to opportunity – that's where the problem is.”

“Please explain”, Holmes said. The sergeant consulted his notebook. 

“It's all about the timing”, he explained. “Mr. Edgar was due to arrive after dinner to discuss certain financial matters as regards the estate. He has a house in Appleby which is about ten miles north of both here and the town, and went to the station there to catch the seven twenty-one train to Knavesby Halt. The ticket-collector and the station-master both remember seeing him and he boarded the train immediately it arrived, at ten minutes past the hour. It has to wait for the northbound train to access the single line, and it was raining at the time.”

“I see something there”, Holmes said. “Does the man not own a horse?”

“Yes, but it was being treated by the local vet for lameness so he had to catch the train. I checked that, of course.”

Holmes nodded. 

“Very wise of you”, he said.

“To continue”, the sergeant said, “the train left two minutes late and reached Kirkby Stephen at seven thirty-eight, one minute down. It stops there for five minutes so was able to depart on time, at seven forty-two. It reached Knavesby Hall Halt, which is unstaffed, at seven forty-eight. The guard did not remember anyone alighting but the platform is curved so that is not unusual. Mr. Edgar walked from there to the hall – it's about ten minutes; I did it myself to make sure – and arrived here at just before eight. The footman who let him in said that the hall clock had just struck moments before he opened the door.”

“A most fortuitous alibi”, Holmes smiled. “What next?”

“Mr. Edgar was shown into the waiting-room and the footman went to inform the squire that his brother was here. There was no way he could have done anything at that time; the footman had to just walk across that huge hall to go to the dining-room. That was when all hell broke loose. Constable Grafton was summoned from the town – smart fellow got here in less than half an hour and made sure that everything was done by the book – and I was called in from my station in Appleby. I was off duty but for such an important client of course I had to come. I did a quick check around – it was pitch dark by then - and Mr. Edgar insisted that I stay the night, so that I could continue my investigations this morning.”

“Is Mr. Edgar Millebrande here now?” Holmes asked.

“He wished to return to his own house”, the sergeant said. “I can understand why, I suppose. I feel in my bones that he must be guilty, but I do not see how.”

“Nor do I for now”, Holmes admitted. “This case will take some thought. Assuming that on the morrow the Good Lord has stopped trying to flood this fair county, my friend and I will take a breath or two of your fresh mountain air, and we will see what we can do.”

Sergeant Hendricks next showed us exactly where the squire and his wife had been sitting at the time, around a corner of the ridiculously long table and furthest from the balcony window. I noted the high-backed chairs, which would surely have added to a shooter's difficulty. The sergeant also drew our attention to an old-fashioned bell-pull. 

“This was between the two of them”, he said. “As you said, one or other of them could easily have summoned help in seconds. The squire disliked it as medieval though; the servants said that he rarely used it.”

“Have you tested it?” Holmes asked. 

The sergeant reddened. 

“Even I do not think of everything”, Holmes said consolingly before pulling the rope hard. 

It promptly fell to the floor. We all looked at it in surprise before Holmes carefully picked it up.

“The end has been taped back into position”, he said, “and before that, cleanly severed from the rest of the rope with some sort of knife. An exceptionally sharp one; there is almost no fraying. So we know for sure that someone with access to the house was involved. Sergeant, you should make sure that this room stays sealed off until further notice. We do not wish our potential suspect to know that we have become aware of their little ruse.”

The sergeant nodded, clearly a little embarrassed at not having spotted such a thing himself. We examined the rest of the room but did not find anything of import so adjourned to our beds.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The next morning the three of us assembled in the study. I knew from the light in Holmes' eyes that he had thought of something. 

“First”, he said, turning to Sergeant Hendricks, “I need to know what other family the late squire had.” 

“None close, sir”, the sergeant said. “There is a sister up in Carlisle, married to a banker there, but they do not talk much.”

“I wish you to go and interview her today”, Holmes said, much to my surprise. And to the sergeant's judging by his reaction.

“Sir?”

“I require as much information about the character of both men as you can get”, Holmes said. “I know it is a fair journey, but I would not ask if it were not important. And when you return, can you then meet with us in Appleby at around six? At the North Eastern Railway station, if you please.”

The sergeant still looked puzzled but stood up.

“Very well, sir”, he said, and left us.

I would have said something at this point but something made me hold back. 

“You think that the sister will provide some useful information?” I asked dubiously. He laughed.

“I most sincerely doubt it”, he said. 

“Then why...?”

He sighed, sounding almost unhappily.

“Watson, I may be what they call a 'town boy', but I know rural areas like this”, he said. “Mr. Edgar Millebrande, now the squire in all but name until his nephew comes of age – and that event I consider unlikely given his uncle's apparent proclivity to remove anyone he dislikes from this plane of existence – is now an important person in these parts. If he thinks that our friend is getting even remotely close to the truth, he will use his connections to ruin him, most likely in short order. The sergeant can have a pleasant day out in that old Roman citadel, and Mr. Edgar can rest easy in the mistaken belief that he is on totally the wrong track. Meanwhile we must secure our case here. We shall start with the servants.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Kellett the butler was the longest-serving of all the staff at the hall. Holmes summoned him to the study, and the man stood proud and erect despite his sixty-odd years.

“You are aware as to why I have been called in?” Holmes asked.

“Yes, sir”, he said. “To investigate the master's and the mistress' deaths.”

“You understand that, in order to establish the truth, I must ask some difficult questions?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good”, he said. “I have only one main question for you, Kellett. I know that despite her being married, Mrs. Millebrande was secretly seeing a man in recent times. I am going to write that man's name on this piece of paper and pass it to you. I require either conformation or denial that I am correct.”

He quickly wrote something on a scrap of paper and passed it to the butler, who blanched. 

“You are quite correct, sir.”

“Thank you, Kellett.”

The butler hesitated.

“May I be allowed a question of my own, sir?”

“Of course”, Holmes said.

“Will your gentleman friend be writing this up as one of your cases?”

“Not in the foreseeable future”, I said firmly. “At least not until the young squire comes of age and can decide if _he_ wishes the details to be made public. Our rule is that no innocent person must be harmed in the publication of any case, so until he is of age and can make that judgement, it shall remain a secret.”

The butler nodded.

“Thank you, sirs”, he said, and withdrew. 

And to my great annoyance Holmes scrunched up the piece of paper he had written the name on and threw it neatly into the fire. I shot him a glare for that.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We did nothing for the rest of the morning although Holmes went out for a short walk by himself for half an hour or so, and we had a pleasant enough luncheon at the hall. Mercifully the weather had cleared as my friend had ordered a carriage for the afternoon. It turned out to be a short journey that he had in mind however, as we went only as far as Kirkby Stephen which was a most attractive little market-town. He visited all three sets of stables in the town and came away from the third looking exceptionally pleased with himself, having hired a bay horse which he tied to the back of the carriage.

“Why do we need another horse?” I asked curiously.

“Patience”, he said. “All will be revealed soon.”

Sometimes I wondered why I put up with him!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We proceeded as far as the Midland Railway's station of the day before, where having lodged the carriage and spare horse in the stables, Holmes spent some time scouring the station yard for something or other. He must have found it fairly quickly for we still had a long wait for a northbound train to come in. We reached Appleby at just after five, and walked the short distance to the North Eastern Railway station, where Sergeant Hendricks was waiting for us on the platform. Holmes gracefully accepted his notes from his interview with Mr. Edgar Millebrande's sister Fenella, and we sat down in the waiting room. 

“Gentlemen”, Holmes said, “my plans for this evening are to effect a reconstruction of the crime. I believe I can show how Mr. Edgar Millebrande killed his brother, yet also established for himself what seemed like the perfect alibi. Assuming, that is, that our esteemed railway companies perform to time.”

“That would be wonderful if you could”, the sergeant said, looking at the large wicker basket Holmes had brought with us from the hall. “Is there a clue in that huge thing?”

Holmes opened the basket, and showed its contents to us both.

“Dinner”, he grinned. “We have a long evening ahead of us.”

Maybe there were some reasons for putting up with him!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We were all assembled on the up platform of Appleby (North Eastern) Station when at ten minutes past seven the green North Eastern Railway train arrived in a swirl of steam and smoke. As the train slowed to a halt Holmes turned to us.

“Gentlemen”, he said firmly, “you must both follow me and do _exactly_ as I do. Do you understand?”

We both nodded, although I did not see exactly how following him into a railway carriage demanded such exactitude. 

I should have known better. Holmes got into the compartment first, then I followed and the sergeant handed me the basket. I turned to speak to my friend only to find he had vanished.

“What on earth...?” I exclaimed.

There was a tap on the window. Holmes was looking up at me from his position between the tracks.

“Hurry!” he demanded.

By the time the sergeant and I had sorted ourselves out, my friend was leaving the station via the level-crossing and hurrying into the twilight. We hoisted the basket between us and raced after him. After only a short time it became clear where he was heading, and sure enough he went into the Midland Railway's own Appleby Station, where a red locomotive was snorting impatiently at the platform. Hoping that he had arranged the tickets, I led Sergeant Hendricks after him and the two of us made it into the carriage barely a minute before the train started on its journey.

“I checked the railway timetables in the hall library this morning”, Holmes said, as the two of us recovered our breath. “This train, the seven-nineteen, reaches the Midland station in Kirkby Stephen at seven thirty-one, seventeen minutes before the North Eastern train pulls into Knavesby Hall Halt.”

“I should have spotted that!” the sergeant said glumly. “I interviewed the staff at the halt but not there. Though how did he get to the hall in time? It is some distance away, and on the other side of town.”

“This was a well-planned crime”, Holmes explained. “A few days beforehand, Mr. Edgar Millebrande makes his own horse lame and ensures that the local vet treats her, so that it appears he has no transport. He then disguises himself and visits Kirkby Stephen where he hires a horse for a few days, rides it back to the Midland Railway station in that town, and leaves it in the stables there under a false name. The College Arms hired such a horse to a man loosely matching Mr. Edgar's description, and it is due to be returned tomorrow morning. I would suggest, sergeant, that it might be in your interests to have a man in the vicinity at that time.”

The sergeant nodded. The train was slowing now and we were pulling once more into Kirkby Stephen (Midland) Station. Holmes got out and ran ahead, and by the time Hendricks and I were there he had the carriage with the spare horse ready. It was dusk by this time, and the heavy grey cloud made visibility poor.

“You will notice”, Holmes said, “that there is a second horse in the stables here. I would also recommend coming here first thing tomorrow morning and checking it in the light, before Mr. Edgar turns up to collect it. There may even be a loose thread from his clothes, trapped in the saddle.”

“I see it now”, I said. “Except.... who was the man that Mrs. Millebrande was seeing?”

Holmes looked at me almost sorrowfully. I suddenly felt a cold that had nothing to do with the icy barn we were all standing in. Sergeant Hendricks fidgeted for reasons that I could guess all too well.

“The sergeant suspects rightly”, Holmes said. “Two people are shot, yet the second one does not call for help. Mrs. Millebrande was secretly seeing her own brother-in-law.”

“What?” I exclaimed in horror. That was practically incest!

“Mr. Edgar Millebrande rides to the hall directly from Kirkby Stephen (Midland) Station”, he explained. “At a gallop, far faster than we can go in this contraption, it is a little over five minutes, so he is there about twenty to eight. He enters via the balcony window, most probably left ajar for him by his gullible sister-in-law, and shoots her husband the squire dead. Mrs. Millebrande, the poor foolish woman, turns to her lover only to receive the same treatment. He had no intention of acquiring a burdensome partner for the next few years during which he intends to strip his nephew's estate bare and quite probably kill him before he comes of age.”

“He leaves, and knowing the estate as well as he does he knows there is one particularly muddy area of the lawn where footprints may survive the downpour that has helped mask his killings. He makes sure to leave false tracks in shoes that are too small for him – that made me suspicious right away – then retrieves his horse and gallops back to Knavesby Hall Halt, probably arriving much the same time as the North Eastern Railway train that he was supposed to be on. You will recall the state of the horse, which had clearly been through some poor usage. The station may be unmanned and only serving the hall and a tiny hamlet, but with the high stakes that he is playing for he dare not risk someone else alighting and later mentioning when questioned that they were the only passenger. He then rides at a normal pace back to the hall, timing his arrival to when he knows the hall clock will be striking the hour and his advent will likely be remembered.”

“The bastard!” I said.

“But we have him!” the sergeant said, his eyes glowing in the dark.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We had. A search of the horse early the following morning revealed a red fibre with gold braid, which matched Mr. Edgar Millebrande's coat that he had worn on the fateful night. And when he returned the horse in Kirkby Stephen wearing the same disguise as before, he was arrested for the murder of his brother and sister-in-law, and the attempted murder of Doctor Agar. Sadly however he was not to face the deserved long drop for his crimes, for he somehow gained access to a razor whilst in jail and slit his own throat rather than face up to his crimes.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
